Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
LOGAN
My heart’s already racing, and the coffee shop is barely in view. Sweat slicks my palms against the steering wheel as I pull into a parking spot along the curb. I’m starting to wonder if I’m going through some sort of identity crisis.
One minute, I’m hooking up with a different girl several nights a week, and the next, I’m basically celibate and semi-stalking a woman with a boyfriend who happens to make decent coffee. Which, if I’m honest, I couldn’t care less about the coffee.
Some people love coffee and live for their daily cup. For me, it’s just an occasional pick-me-up. I don’t crave it or even drink it regularly.
Yet this week, I’ve consumed more coffee than I have in the past year.
Not counting the time I stopped in with Miles and Finn, this marks my fourth visit to the shop.
Granted, two of those times Tessa wasn’t working—which was a major disappointment.
But I’m tracking her schedule now, and the more I think about it, it definitely carries the aforementioned stalker vibes.
The worst part? I can’t even explain what I’m doing here.
If one of the guys asked me right now what the hell I was thinking, I wouldn’t have an answer.
Tessa hasn’t given me any indication she’s interested.
She has a boyfriend. She flinches when I lean too close.
Every logical part of my brain is telling me to let this go.
But there’s something about her that I can’t shake. The way she looked at me during that signing—terrified and hopeful at the same time. The bruise on her wrist. The way she steps back every time I get close, like she’s bracing for something.
I don’t know what it is. I just know I can’t stop thinking about her.
I wipe my palms down my shorts and take a deep breath before stepping inside.
My stomach twists the second I spot Tessa behind the counter.
Her eyes find mine the moment I walk in, and the expression she wears confirms she’s not immune to my presence.
But honestly, I can’t tell if she’s happy or terrified to see me.
“Hey, Tessa,” I say as I approach the counter. “Lucky to see you here today.”
She presses her lips into a line and offers me a flat smile. “What can I get for you?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking I want to try something new today.”
“Well, given that it’s an extremely hot day, I might suggest iced coffee.”
I tap my index finger against my chin, considering. “Yeah, I think iced coffee sounds perfect.”
“Do you want a flavoring in it?” she asks.
“As usual, I’m gonna leave it up to you.”
“I think you’re the type of guy who wants a little squirt of flavor in there. Maybe French vanilla?” One brow lifts.
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me because, if I’m not mistaken, that’s the closest thing to flirting she’s given me yet.
“You know, I think I will take a shot of vanilla.”
“There’s also hazelnut,” she suggests, “or mocha.”
I lift one shoulder. “French vanilla sounds good.”
“All right, so one large iced coffee with a shot of French vanilla. Any sweeteners or anything else?”
“No, I think that’s good.” I lean in a fraction and don’t miss the way Tessa takes a step back. “Are you still with that boyfriend of yours?”
At the mention of her boyfriend, color drains from her face. Her eyes dart around the shop as if checking to see if we’ve been overheard.
“Yes,” she says, her tone shifting—more formal, more firm. But noticeably quieter, too.
“Oh. Well, that’s a shame,” I say.
She clears her throat and lifts her face to mine, tilting it just enough that her fear becomes unmistakable. “Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I might be interested. Because I do have a boyfriend.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t give me that impression.”
“Oh.” Her gaze drops, cheeks reddening. “I’m sorry. I just thought that maybe you were…”
“Flirting?” I finish for her. “I was.”
“Oh,” she says softly.
I chuckle. “Is that not allowed?”
“Well… it’s probably not wise,” she says. “So maybe we should just keep it professional.”
“Or,” I counter, “we could keep it friendly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
She fusses with an errant thread on her apron. “I don’t need any more friends.”
“Okaay,” I draw out. “Well, maybe I do. Are you going to turn away somebody who’s in desperate need of a friend?”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “I think you have plenty of friends.”
“How do you know?”
“I can just tell,” she says.
“Well, I think I need more. Specifically you.”
“We can’t be friends.” She places her hands on her hips and takes a step back, grabbing a plastic cup from the stack beside her.
“Why not?”
“Well, first of all, we have nothing in common.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
She huffs out a breath. “Trust me. I know.”
I study her for a second, watching the way she won’t quite meet my eyes. The way her fingers grip that plastic cup a little too tight. There’s more to this than just having nothing in common. There’s something she’s not saying.
“All right, I have an idea,” I say. “How about this? Maybe we’re not compatible as friends, but maybe we are. The only way to know is to get to know each other.”
“Oh, I can’t—I can’t hang out with you,” she stutters, terror flashing across her face.
“No, I’m not suggesting that. I’m just saying… when I come in for coffee every day, I’ll ask you one question. And you can ask me one question. And through these questions, we can decide if we’re compatible.”
“A question a day,” she repeats quietly, hesitating. “That couldn’t hurt.”
“Exactly my point,” I say. “One question a day isn’t going to hurt anybody. It’s innocent. Friendly.”
She chews on her bottom lip, considering. For a second, I think she’s going to say no. That she’s going to shut this down completely and tell me to stop coming in. But then something shifts in her expression. Something soft. Almost hopeful.
“Okay,” she says finally, setting the plastic cup on the counter beside the cooled pitcher of coffee and turning back to face me. “What’s your question?”
Relief washes through me, more than it probably should. “We’re going to start with something super deep.” Hands on the counter, I lean in.
Her eyes widen.
I take a moment and pull in a deep breath. “What is your favorite animal?”
She blinks twice, confusion flickering across her face before relief floods in. “My favorite animal? Um… a pig.”
“A pig?” I huff out a laugh.
“Yeah,” she says sheepishly. “They’re cute.”
“Your favorite animal is a pig?”
“Yes. My favorite animal is a pig,” she says, this time with more authority.
“Why?”
She lifts her shoulders. “Well, they’re cute and adorable, and they have those flat noses. Plus, they’re pink, and they snort. And, you know, they say pigs are smarter than dogs.”
I scrunch my lips to the side. “Yeah, I guess all that is true.”
“So that’s why I like pigs. Those are all valid reasons, are they not?”
My brows knit together as I narrow my gaze. “Because of their noses?”
“Among the other things I mentioned.”
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“What’s your favorite animal?” she asks.
I think about it for a minute. While I’m the one who asked the question, I’ve never really stopped to contemplate what my favorite animal is. “Um… I guess a dog.”
Good answer. Who doesn’t like dogs?
She nods. “Do you have a dog?”
“No. I have a cat.”
“You have a cat?”
“Yep. I do. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.” I chuckle.
“Why not?” She grins. “Are you worried I’ll judge you?”
“I’m not a cat person. That definitely brings down the coolness factor a tad, don’t you think?”
“First of all,” she says, “I’m not judging your coolness factor. And second of all, I think cats are cool.”
“Cats are lame,” I say. “Dogs are where it’s at.”
“But you have a cat,” she deadpans.
“Yes. My cat is cool,” I clarify. “All other cats? Not so much.”
“Okay, whatever.” She grins and turns away. Ice rattles into the cup. Coffee follows, then a squirt of vanilla. She stirs it once, snaps on a lid, and slides it across the counter.
I pay, leaving another generous tip that makes her cheeks flush.
“All right, Tessa, whose favorite animal is a pig,” I say, “I will see you tomorrow. As friends.”
She nods, and for the first time since I walked in, her smile looks real. “Friends.”
I grab my coffee and head for the door, but before I step outside, I glance back. She’s still watching me. The second our eyes meet, she looks away fast, busying herself with wiping down the counter.
I push through the door and into the heat, a stupid grin spreading across my face.
Yeah, I’m definitely losing it. But still riding the high of another Tessa encounter, I can’t bring myself to care.